I open my eyes, yawn, and stretch. Sit up. Pull on my ragged, community home clothes, colourless from many washings.
It's harvest time in district 11, but that doesn't matter today. Today is reaping day.

The morning passes in a blur of preparation. The younger children need looking after, the chores need doing, and you can't expect the adults to do that. They have other things to do, only no one's quite sure what they are.

I trudge to the square, along with the other community home kids, signing in and moving into assigned areas quickly.
Peacekeepers line the square, guns aimed into the crowd.

The second Quarter Quell, and the Capitol is very unpopular right now. Twice the number of tributes. More than twice the number of deaths.

The mayor, one past victor, and our escort sit on the stage.
Our escort. Esha Mae. She had dyed her skin purple last year. But she's topped that. Now it is black, with silver stars. Her hair is silvery blonde and her eyes black.
Eww. Capitol fashions are disgusting.

The Treaty of the Treason is read by the mayor, and the victor, a sixty-something year old man, falls asleep.

She steps forward, reaching into the males' ball. She reads out a name, and a boy walks forwards. Fourteen, perhaps, and malnourished. But aren't we all? A second name is pulled, and an older, merchant boy comes forwards. Perhaps sixteen, a year older than me. His name is listed as Joen Black. He intrigues me. I think I know him from somewhere.

She reaches into the girl's ball, pulling out a slip of paper, which she fumbles with, before reading off a name. An eighteen year old girl, fit and strong from the fields. I shake my head involuntarily. She will do too well alone to need my life.

She reaches in again, pulls out a second slip, and reads another name.
"Blossom Zurich, please step forwards."

The parents cry out as the girl walks forwards. She is young, and pretty, but it isn't until she reaches the stage I realise how pretty.
She stands on the stage, bright blonde hair and tanned skin. She is a twelve year old, crying, afraid, and so alone. I can see myself reflected in her. Four years ago, that could have been me. And that only makes me feel better about what I have to do. For myself, and for her.

"Are there any volunteers?" She is not expecting anyone to answer. The girl has no sisters, only two older brothers, both eligible. She is clearly taken aback when I raise my hand. "I volunteer as tribute."

She beckons me to the stage, and the pixie like blonde girl escapes into her mother's arms. I am quietly satisfied.

"So, who are you, then?" Esha is clearly bored, clearly doesn't want to be here, the surprise of a moment ago already lost. I don't blame her.

"I am Chars. Chars Glyph."

She nods, uninterested. I shake the hand of the male tribute, the one that interested me. Joen, I remember. Joen Black. Yes, I will help him. He and I were called second, and will be mentored together.

Well, Joen, I think. This is your lucky day. Because you are going to have twice the chance of living. Although that's still only a single chance of winning on a normal year. The odds are truly in your favour, at least, more than most.

I am Chars Glyph. I have no reasons left to live. And this is my story.

Remember, if I get twenty people commenting "yes" or something at the end of any chapter, I'll make it into a novel (or novella) or publish the novel it's a part of.